"A clean house is note of a life unlived." -Anon.
My room is clearly evidence of said quote, as when I look around it all I see is stuff, stuff and more stuff. Kind of like an understandable version of "Racks on Racks" except with actual items; make-up, shoes, clothes, purses, and accessories litter my floor as if two super models stay here (except there are food wrappers scattered around so...).
I've been a bustling broad lately; I work 8 hours a day, five a week, and spend a lot of time at work, on my way to work, or preparing for work. The rest of the time I spend sleeping, shopping, or eating, the latter of which has gained me five pounds that I'm desperately trying to get rid of. Don't get me wrong, I love the thickness, but I'm trying to be in my normal range of 140-155...anything else means I'm running up and down my flight of stairs until it hurts me.
I didn't use to have time for make-up, nor use. I had a lot of acne scars growing up and would spend my time with different concealers and powders, bases and creams, trying to fade them and hide them when one day I realized, somebody is going to be very upset if I'm flawless in the face when they ask me out, and flawed as hell when they take me out. I figure I want people to see what I look like naturally, and to be honest, I'm not all that bad. As W tells me often, it could be much much worse on some "Oh bless your heart," type sh*t.
I'll be honest, I absolutely love clothes shopping. I never used to have the means to go out and browse and try on because I knew if I did I'd want to buy and I'd be strapped for cash. Now? Dresses and slacks, blouses and skirts, heels and wedges (oh my!); no item is safe. I love things that fit flatteringly, things that don't require "support garments." I like to look nice, but not as nice as I've been trying to look lately.
See there's this guy at work...I'm not sure what it is, but I'm just feeling him. He's not necessarily my "type" per se but I still dig him. Let's call him Johnny. Johnny is...techy. He's funny. He's got lots of stories and seems like a really nice guy. Plus he has a deep kind of voice which so sweetens my tea. He makes me blush, actually, which is really tough to do, and he does it with little gestures here or words there, maybe a look...
I'm not really myself...I mean, I'm not who I'm used to being. I'm used to being high-strung and worried. I'm used to feeling unpretty and unproductive. I'm used to not feeling like I'm capable of what I wish I were. I shouldn't say I am, but rather I was. I was that high strung wallflower girl, but now...I'm that woman stepping tentatively into her own little niche of spotlight. And I'm a woman with a crush on a guy that makes her blush.
Womanhood was sneaky, but man, is the payoff worth it.